


Chance

by TrashQueens



Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: M/M, Public Hand Jobs, Sexual Coercion, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 20:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashQueens/pseuds/TrashQueens
Summary: Non-apocalypse au, Doc adopts Tommy after his parents die and takes him on a trip to celebrate. But they get separated and Tommy meets a charming man with less than honorable intentions.





	Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Trash Queen Red here with a terrible fic about Murphy molesting an underage 10k. His age is unspecified so feel free to decide on your own. 
> 
> As always, read the tags.

It was the first time he had ever been out of the state of New York, not to mention the first time he had been on a plane. When the adoption had gone through, Doc had said they should celebrate with a trip to somewhere fun. Tommy had only ever known the nature preserve and Doc's eclectic neighborhood in Albany, he didn't have any idea of where 'fun' would be. 

Though it seemed that Doc already had a place in mind and before he knew it, Tommy was sitting next to his adoptive father on a plane on its way to New Orleans.

After the death of his parents, Tommy had ended up in foster care, but the man he was placed with had taken him in and treated him like a son from that first day. Doc was eccentric but kind and caring, and he had adopted Tommy officially as soon as the courts allowed it. 

It felt good to have a parent again, to know he was cared for and wanted, and Tommy tried his hardest to be the best son he could be for his new dad. It wasn't that hard, Tommy had always been a good boy and Doc was understanding when he wasn't.

New Orleans felt like a beautiful dream, it's historic buildings and cities of dead, the moss hanging on the trees seemed like lonely ghosts watching over them as they walked the shady streets. There was a magic to the city the likes of which Tommy had never felt, and after only an afternoon in the Crescent City he could understand why Doc had brought him there.

Until they made their way to Bourbon Street, and Tommy knew the real reason why Doc had wanted to go. The decadence and revelry of the famous street was an eye opener to the sheltered teen, who hardly knew where to look with each step. People drinking right in the street, musicians on every corner, women exposing their breasts for necklaces of plastic beads, Tommy could hardly believe his eyes. 

As they walked the crowd separated on the street to make way for a parade that came marching through, the enormous brass band filling the air with jazz the likes of which he had never seen or heard. It wasn't until Tommy was standing safely under a wrought iron balcony amongst the crowd that he realized he had gone to the opposite side of the street as Doc and was separated from his guardian. But the parade seemed endless and there was no crossing the street until it was done. 

For a while Tommy was able to keep sight of Doc, but after a particularly large float passed, he couldn't locate his adoptive dad's head in the crowd and frowned. The area seemed small but the crowd was large and he didn't like feeling lost. 

"You here alone?" A voice asked and Tommy turned to see a tall man standing beside him.

"I'm here with my dad," he answered, looking the man over. He was handsome with his dark brown hair and neatly trimmed beard, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "But I lost him in the crowd."

"Lost dad, huh? That's too bad, but I could help you find him," the man smiled charmingly. "Let's get something to drink and then we'll start looking."

Tommy was about to protest that he wasn't old enough to drink when the man placed a red solo cup in his hand. 

"Hurricane, best on the street. So, what's your name?"

“Um...Tommy," he answered, giving the drink a sniff before taking a sip. It was sweet and cold and made his stomach tingle; he took another sip. 

"Tommy, you can call me Murphy, or Murph, whatever suits you."

Something about the way Murphy said his name left a feeling of foreboding inside Tommy. But the hurricane was making him feel warm and relaxed, and he took Murphy's hand when it was offered to guide him through the thick crowd. 

"We might have trouble finding him until the parade passes and the crowd dies down," Murphy was saying as they crossed a side street, passing endless bars and restaurants, cheap souvenir shops and hotels.

The hurricane was nearly gone and Tommy's cheeks were rosy. He considered replying but no words came to his lips, he usually wasn't much for talking anyway.

They stopped for a moment and before Tommy realized it, another red solo cup had been set down inside the empty one in his hand. He looked up at Murphy for explanation, but the man only gave him a wicked smile and playful, exaggerated shrug. 

The second drink went down easier and faster than the first and when they started walking again Tommy found himself giggling at nearly everything. Suddenly finding Doc didn’t seem like such a daunting task, or even that pressing.

"This crowd is really picking up," Murphy observed but to Tommy it hadn't changed much, not that he had been paying close attention.

Before he had time to consider, however, Murphy was pulling him into a narrow alley, saying something about getting away from the throngs of people.

"Wait, where are-," was all Tommy managed before his back was against the brick wall and Murphy's mouth was on his. 

The kiss was hard and a little terrifying, Murphy forcing his tongue into Tommy's mouth almost instantly, his hands gripping the boy's narrow waist. It felt like a kiss you would see on a movie, one with two people who couldn't hide their desire any longer; but that wasn't Tommy. 

With enough effort he was able to wrench his head away, breathless and a little dizzy. "I should try to find my dad."

"Relax, we got time for a little fun," Murphy replied with that same charming grin as he spun Tommy around, pressing his chest against the wall and leaning in to keep him in place. His hands were working the boy's cargo shorts open, pushing them down to his knees. Tommy felt panic rise inside himself.

"What are you doing? I don't think we should-."

"It's alright, baby boy, you're alright," Murphy whispered against the shell of his ear as his erection slipped between Tommy's thighs. 

A hand wrapped around his own soft cock and Tommy gasped. He'd never even been kissed before, this was completely uncharted territory for him. As Murphy began to shallowly thrust between his thighs, Tommy whined.

"I've got you, sweet thing," Murphy soothed as he stroked Tommy's erection in time with his own thrusts. 

The hand on his cock, the top of Murphy's cock rubbing against the underside of his balls, the breath in his ear, the sound of the parade just steps away; it was so overwhelming and intense and like nothing Tommy had ever experienced. He found himself aroused and not wanting it to end while wanting to run away and hide from all the sensations at the same time.

"Please," he whimpered with a shuddering breath, feeling overly hot and anxious.

"That's it, baby, I know your close. Come on now and finish up for Daddy," Murphy growled, teeth against the rim of his ear.

The name was filthy and humiliating, the humidity of the city suddenly oppressive in the dank little alley, and Tommy came with a soft whine, squeezing his eyes closed and gritting his teeth as his release hit the bricks in front of his body.

Murphy's smug chuckle was taunting and he gripped both of Tommy's skinny hips tight enough to hurt. Thrusting harder and faster than before, Murphy mouthed and nipped at the back of his neck, up to the dark curls at the nape and down to the junction with his shoulder. Not hard enough to bruise, but just enough teeth to make the boy shiver. 

If Tommy's orgasm had been subdued and controlled, Murphy's was intense and exaggerated enough for the both of them. He growled low and deep against the boy's neck, squeezing his hips until Tommy whimpered in pain, his ejaculate joining Tommy's on the wall. 

"Well, that was nice," he said, the smile evident in his voice as he tugged Tommy's shorts and underwear back up. "Thanks a lot, kid."

A quick pat to his bottom, the sound of retreating footsteps and Tommy was alone in the alley. 

Turning around, he half expected to see Murphy standing at the mouth of the alley but he was totally alone, his shorts still undone and his cheeks still flushed. If the evidence hadn’t been sliding down the wall, Tommy might have doubted if it had been real at all. 

Once his shorts were closed, he stood there for another moment, dazed and needing some kind of comfort but not knowing exactly what. The noise from the parade was fading which meant it was time to actually find Doc. He stepped out onto Bourbon Street and headed back in the direction he had come. 

"Hey there, kiddo!" Doc called after only a few steps, waving to Tommy as he crossed the street. "There ya are! That parade was something, wasn't it? You hungry?"

Tommy nodded and held out his arms for a hug, which Doc gave without question. 

"It's alright, I found ya, I'll always find ya," the older man promised warmly. "Now let's go get a couple dozen oysters, what do you say?"

Ten minutes later they were seated at an oyster bar with a dozen in front of each of them, as well as onion rings in case Tommy didn’t like oysters. The experience in the alley seemed surreal and Tommy couldn’t focus on anything but how that large hand on him, the way Murphy had whispered in his ear.

“You alright, kid? You’re more quiet than normal, and that’s saying something,” Doc observed, setting down the empty shell of his sixth oyster.

“Oh, yeah just…taking it all in?” Tommy shrugged, picking up an onion ring that quickly dripped ketchup onto his shorts. On instinct he reached into his back pocket, Papa had always carried a handkerchief in his back pocket and after his death Tommy had started carrying a tissue or napkin in his.

Inside the pocket was a small card, not a tissue. Glancing up to make sure Doc wasn’t looking, he pulled the card out, written in sloppy script was Murphy’s name and email address.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have an idea for a prompt, let us know!


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